THE COLONEL'S ENEMY.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 3148, 27 March 1909, Page 2

THE COLONEL'S ENEMY.

By WINTHEOP B. HARLAND. Author' of " Lady Elgin's Secret," " A Harvest of Shame," "The Elder Sod," "Lord Ashton's Heir," Etc.

CHAPTER XXlV.—Continued. Miss Dacre carried the paper in "her trembling bancs to Dora's room; she was indignant at having been treated like a child; even Dora, she thought, had tried to keep the truth from her. "You told me you had a letter from your father," she said, "and he was at Antwerp?" "Yes. my dear aui:t," Dora answered; "I will show you the letter, if you like; but you know you can never react his writing." "Then if you had a letter trom him, what do you mean by this,' Miss Dacre said, pointing to the paragraph. "There are not two colonels St. Hilary!" Entirely at a loss to comprehend her, Dora took the paper, and read the paragraph of plain, large type, and then a heavy darkness seemed to descend and crush out her young lif k for with a \hrilling cry of "Father! she fell to the floor and lay there as H if dead. Miss Dacre consternation was pitrto see when she realized what had done; presence of mind never been one of her leading qualities, and in the face of such an emergency as thu she was worse than useless, but there was help at hand. Lennox came in upon the instant when Dora's bitter cry rang through the house, and Mr Dacre, though he could only move with pain and difficulty, was there almost as soon. He realised what had taken place at a glance, for his sister's terror-stricken countenance told the whole story, and the dreadful fury in his savage eyes might have withered l.er. "If I had put you in safe keeping long ago," he Siild, under ms breath, 44 this would not have happened. 1 only wonder what mischief you will do next?" The poor lady crept out of the room like a frightened child, and Mr Dacre tjrned with a tenderness that transform- d nim; had he been her own father he could not have been more deetply moved, and in his distress he gave utterance to some incoiierent expressions of passionate self-accueation and regret which Lennox did not understand. What she did understand was that he could render no assistance such as she required. "If you will excuse me, sir," she said, "but you ctn do notning here you are only in ti.e wtv. You nad batter send one of tr,e l.uust maids to me, and let some one go for a doctor and Miss Walton, Ibis is a faint- • int* fit, and a very bad one, and the sooner they are here the better.' He obeyed her without a word, thankful that there was one cool and clear-headed woman in the house. He sent the footman for Dr. De Vigne, tilling him to take a cab and go straight for Miss Walton. Lie Vigne waif at Cai.on Street in less than an hour, and Mary arrived i.ot many minutes later, and Mr Dacre lingered outside ttc door, so abject in his misery that he might have been a criminal waiting for the verdict that gave him life and liberty or cond. m:ied birr.

"Haw is sil lie asked, when . the doctor had time to see him. "Utterly prostrate'" was the grave reply; "it has been a terrible 'shock; and she is scarcely conscious yet. lam rather afraid we have not seen the worst of it; she dots r.ot s em to recognise anyone." 4< Has she asked for me?" "No, only for her futhev and the major; but the one cry is for her father. If ha is nob found soon, I should net like to answer for lur reason or her life." "If the truth could have been Ktpt from Lei for a timej" Dacre said. "Had rt been left to mo, all would have beer, well; and Dora would not have known but for my Bister's folly. She is not responsible for anything she may do or say; and but for a mistaken kindness, 1 should have placed her under restraint when her mind began to give way." "Miss St. Hilary must have known the truth sooner or late," said De Vigne, "just as surely as, living or dead, * a shall find htr father; and you blame Miss Dacre without reason.' That she is absent-minded and eccentric no one can deny, but she is in no sense dangerousS or irresponsible. There has been some trouble in her life, some heavy shodk, which has placed a burden on her conscience; but it is the burden of a secret or a sin not her own." "Do you prepend to be a specialist as well as a doctor of medicine?" Pacre said, with the suspicion of a sneer on his lip.

"A physician would be of little use in his profession if he were not a psychologist as well," Athol replied, quietly. "I have always taken pains to cultivate my facilities of perception and observation, and very little escapes rue now. Miss Dacre, who, lam sure, has led an ini.ocent and harmless life, has something on her mind, and it is killing her. If she were a member of the Roman Church, she would find strength and comfort in her clergyman; but that source of sympathy and consolation js denied her, and the will ktep her cor fession for her deathbed, and v. e miy be called to that sooner than you think, for she is a most unhappy woman."

"You are talking nonsense," said Deere, angrily and evidently annoyed; "my tisler was always the -same. Rt ligion became a mania with her at «r> early aee. She never encouraged a lover; it would have seemed like setting up ar earthly idol; and she dre3sed like a sister of mercy, giving all her time and her money to the sick and the poor, when other girls of her years were thinking of r» 'Hp'-T Kit inf d* r.«maUer, the ballr. • tre. As <"-r n " secret if sr-be ever had one it would die with her."

The doctor wondered how he could reconcile! that witn wnat ne had jus t said-chat she was not responsible for anything she may do or say but he iiunla no remark, there was such terriij].- buffering in Mr Caere's face as Dora's low cry for her fa'lier reached him tnrough the door. " What can we d>>?" he said. "Oh, Heaven 1 what can we do?" "Nothing. I am afraid," De Vis ne saui, solemnly, "unless we can bring the colonel back before it is too late." CHAPTER XXV. WHAT THE DOCTOR SAID. For many days the house in Canon Street was a nouse of sorrow, and there were times when the anxious watchers fearea it would be a house of mourning, for dangerous symptoms of brain fever set in when Dora rallied from the state of utter prostration into which she was thrown by the discovery of her father s disappearance. Mary Walton took her place by the bedside, and nursed the patient day and night, with such assistance as the faithful Lennox could give. A trained nurse was sent in by Dr. De Vigne; but Dora, athough she did not recognize her friends, was keen-1 ly alive to the presence of a stranger, and grew fretfully restless if the attendant ventured near. It was not an uncommon thing, the doctor said, and reflected no discredit on the nurse; she was a quiet, v\ell-tired gentlewoman, who bore her rejection gracefully, and took care not to show that she was pained by the failure of her .mission. It was ner dies., Dora objected to. the white cap and apron that gave her a somewhat ghostly appearance to Miss St. Hilary's fevered fancy, and as the rules of the institution would not permit her to put aside the regulation attire, she had to be dispensed with. "It will throw sone heavy work on you," De Vigne obstrved to Mary, "for, until fever has lun its course, Miss St. Hilary m"st not be left for an hour." "Do not mind me," Miss Walton said; "I shall not be tried beyond my I btrength, and have Lennox to relieve me. She is very affectionate and willing. It is dreadful to see Dora like this; but it will be worse when she comes to her senses, for she will remember, and what can we say when she asks for her father" "He may be here by that time," Mr Dacre said. "I believe I could find him if you could put me on my feet again, De Vigne. I would freely [give a year for every day if 1 were only able to get abouc as usual. " " You may venture out as it is, if you are careful not to undergo any I excitement or fatigue," the doctor asid, "and you have horses and a carriage to take you everywhere, though what you can do that could not be done by others lam at a loss to undertsa';d." [tO BE CONTINUED.]